


The Sergeant and I

by torviironside



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:34:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21538324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torviironside/pseuds/torviironside
Summary: It's a cold December in 1941 Brooklyn, New York. Weeks before Christmas ...weeks before the United States join in World War II. Two friends, brothers not in blood but in bond meet a woman in a dark, cold alley. Ana Deveroux is an anomaly. A woman out of time, volunteered to be sent back before Captain America and The Winter Soldier in an effort to stop what seems inevitable. Hydra. The Winter Soldier. Thanos. Faced with a past with James "Bucky" Barnes that hasn't happened yet for him, Ana is placed in a tough situation made even more harrowing by the looming inevitability of his draft.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You can find this story posted on my Wattpad under a different name. I'm still trying to find the perfect title for this.

Scared was an understatement.

As Tony Stark holds the time stone out to me I stare at it apprehensively, looking between him and the glowing green stone. "C'mon Deveroux. You know it's the only way."

I fidget nervously with a loose thread on my black military inspired jacket, tugging on the button that I knew I should've tightened, moving from the button to tighten my grip on my bag housing a few changes of clothes and a few books I couldn't bare to part with.

The only way to stop Thanos.

"I'm scared." I finally choke out in a whisper. I'd kept up a false bravado the entire time that Tony'd been going over the plan with me. Spouting off how I'd love to go back to the 1940's when Steve and Bucky were just young men, while teasing that I'd sell a kidney to see Bucky in that Sergeant's uniform in real life was one thing. Actually having to go back to the 1940's was a whole different thing.

I was scared because of what would happen if I failed. I was scared because I was going back to rewrite history. I was scared because regardless of what happened I could never come back. I'd be stuck in the 1940's left to grow old and die in an era very different from this one. ...and even if I could somehow get back to the future this present would no longer exist.

Tony gives my shoulder a hard squeeze. He understands. He's scared too, I realize ...because while I was going back in time he was going forward into an unknown future. One, that if I did it right ...would be different. Better.

At least I knew the past, knew what happened. The big things in the timeline that couldn't be changed. There was a small amount of comfort in that.

I felt like I was going to be sick, my hands were clammy and I swiped them off on my pants.

"You don't wanna live a long life with Sergeant Barnes now?" Tony asks me, a weak attempt at a wisecrack.

"This wasn't exactly how I planned on it." But currently, Bucky was nothing than a pile of dust. I let out a sob, clinging to Tony as if he had strength to give me.

"God, Tony. What if I fail?" _What if he doesn't fall in love me_? Goes unsaid.

"I can't imagine James Buchanan Barnes not falling helplessly in love with you, no matter what era of his life you find him in." Tony tries to reassure me. "He loved you as The Winter Soldier. He loves you as Bucky Barnes. He's the same man he was in the 40's. Just younger. The only difference is I'm sending you to him before he joins the war." I fight the trembling of my lower lip, trying not to think that I'd never see him or anyone else I'd grown to care for again. Except for Steve and Bucky.

Not to mention the 40's wasn't the greatest time for people of color. Granted, the North didn't segregate like the South did but it still brought out a secondary hesitancy within me.

It was such a huge burden to bear.

"You're the only one that can do this, Anastasia." It wasn't as reassuring as he meant it to be. I extended my fingers towards the stone, squeeze my eyes shut and press my trembling fingers to the warm stone.


	2. Chapter 2

There is a pressure in my head, no noise. Only a feeling of being stuck in a vacuum, like something was sucking the air out of my lungs. And then suddenly the pressure was gone and there was noise …but not the noise of twenty first century New York City. There was idle conversations, a low murmur. There was a putter of a car here and there but no overly consistent traffic.

I was perturbed, and sucked in greedy breaths, tasting the air. It was familiar and foreign and I felt my stomach roil as sweat beaded on my forehead. I emptied the contents of my stomach onto the side of the brick building, planting my hand against the rough wall for support. I cringed and let out a low, pitiful noise as my bag slumps down my arm, tugging on it painfully.

I took deep breathes through my mouth now, trying not to let my thoughts linger on the sour taste in my mouth, or the weight of what I’d just done, trying not to let them linger on how utterly terrified I was. Trying not to linger about the fact that there was absolutely no going back. No reset to try again.

I let out a soft sob. It echoes loud in my ears and I plant my fist to my mouth to stifle the rest that inevitably follow.

“Hold on Buck.” My heart stutters and then picks up a rapid pace as I see a small, svelte figure coming towards me, followed closely by a silhouette I’d know anywhere.

“C’mon man. It was probably just a stray cat.” I hear Bucky’s half-hearted attempt to draw Steve back from the dark of the alley I hid in. “I don’t need another cat. I’ve already got you.” Bucky quips and Steve ignores him, drawing nearer to her. Pre-serum Steve was practically swimming in the khaki colored trench coat he wore and I blinked up at him through tear blurred eyes.

He was so small. It only further aided in the disorientation I felt. But he was _familiar_ and I resisted the urge to cling to him. I resisted it because while he was familiar to me I was unfamiliar to him and it felt like a knife twisting in my gut.

“It’s not a cat Buck. It’s a girl.” He snaps at Bucky who reluctantly draws nearer. His eyes take me in as he steps to Steve’s side, no recognition in his eyes at all. I expected it but it still feels like someone’d shoved a rusted, jagged knife into my heart and twisted all the same.

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky murmurs under his breath.

“Language, Buck.” Steve chides as I swipe at my cheek with my sleeve furiously to collect the tears that continue to betray me.

“She looks like she’s in shock.” Bucky observes, his clinical expression softening. It’s minuscule but it softens all the same. I watch as Steve looks up at Bucky, seeking his friend’s advice.

“We can’t leave her here.” He pleads as Bucky turns to face him, brows rising.

“There’s a women’s shelter a couple blocks from here.” Bucky agrees.

“Buck —”

“Steve, she could’ve been…,” Bucky’s face pales significantly as he sneaks a peek at me from the corner of his eye. He can’t make himself say the word and I’m grateful for it. It’s not what happened to me but I couldn’t very well tell them I’m from their future. It was almost better to let them assume, make up their own story for it. He clears his throat and steels his shoulders. “Look, we don’t know what happened to her. We’re strangers to her. Two _male_ strangers.” Bucky emphasizes but Steve is, typical to the Steve I knew, not paying him or his concerns any attention. He kneels down before me as Bucky lets out a ‘why do I even bother’ sigh and leans back against the adjacent wall.

“The woman shelters are probably full up for the night.” Steve argues and Bucky makes a noise of contemplation from his shadowed place against the parallel wall but doesn’t bother to say anything else on the matter of what to do with me. Steve looks at me then, smiling tentatively.

Still so good and full of light.

“Do you want to go to the hospital? Are you hurt?”

“No.” I say. At least, I wasn’t hurt physically. Emotionally; yes. And now I was at an impasse because what in the hell did I tell them? Not the truth. At least…not yet.

“My name is Steve and that’s Bucky.” Steve points to himself and then jerks his thumb towards Bucky.

“Anastasia.” I offer from behind the sleeve of my jacket, trying and failing to stifle a hiccup.

“I know you have no reason to trust us but you’re more than welcome to spend the night at our apartment. We’ll figure out what to do in the morning.” Steve offers. 

Bucky makes a noise of protest. “Steve —”

“We’ve got a spare bedroom.”

“No. We. Don’t.” Bucky grits out between clenched teeth.

“She can have my room, Buck.” Steve snaps and Bucky grumbles something unintelligible beneath his breath but pushes off the wall and extends his hand down to me. I try to mask the shock I feel at seeing a flesh hand instead of the titanium I’d been used to seeing. I follow the path of his arm with my eyes, taking in his face. It doesn’t hold the warmth I’ve grown accustomed to seeing. His handsome face is weary; uncertain…but the gesture of his hand is a gentlemanly one nevertheless.

I don’t recall having slipped down the side of the wall — avoiding the small pool of sick — and tentatively I put my hand in his, my fingers skimming along his un-calloused palm. A small shiver slithers down my spine and heat blossoms in my cheeks as his large hand wraps around mine and pulls me up. My legs are still weak from the time travel and I stagger against him.

Bucky catches me, his left arm instinctively going around my waist as Steve dusts the dirt off of his pants, oblivious to the — very brief — look exchanged between the two of us.

“Easy.” For a moment the bravado and reluctance is gone; melts away and I can see Bucky — my Bucky — in the softness of his eyes, the slight frown of concern playing at the corners of his cupid’s bow mouth. I blink and it’s gone. Bucky ensures that I can stand and reorients himself away from me, dropping my hand.

I follow them back to their apartment, reluctant to let go of my bag when Steve offers to take it from me as Bucky turns on the radio. Old Christmas music plays over the speakers as he fiddles with the knobs until the station comes in. I’m perplexed for a moment but a quick glimpse at the newspaper thrown haphazardly on the small table tells me it’s mid-December as Steve disappears into a small bedroom to the side. Presumably his.

I grab the paper and bring it’s front page up to my face to read the big, bold letters of the headline.

1500 DEAD IN HAWAII

CONGRESS VOTES WAR

“They’re gonna be draftin’ soon.” Bucky’s voice is quiet, solemn. I look up at him from over the edge of the paper. His lips part to speak again but he stops himself, looking back to the radio as I lower the paper as discreetly as I can back on the table. I know his eyes went to Steve. I already knew how the whole thing was going to play out.

“Ok, Anastasia I got your bag in my room. I drew hot water for a bath, if you’d like one and I …didn’t know so I …I laid out some clean clothes for you.”

I turn to face him, hugging my jacket lapels closer to myself, wondering whose clothes he took the liberty of laying out. I was taller than him. Not as tall as Bucky but still tall in comparison.

I thank him and brush past him towards the bathroom, slipping out of my clothes. The water is hot and I sink down into the tub with a sigh. Outside the closed door of the small bathroom I can hear Steve and Bucky arguing.

“Whose clothes did you give her, Steve?”

“Well, she’s too tall to fit in mine, Buck.”

“Steve —”

“What’s the big deal? Why’re you being such a giant jerk about this?”

“Look, I know you want to be the big hero, the knight in shining armor because she’s gorgeous —” I flush as I sink down to my chin in the water, watching it lap at my toes, the nail-polish chipping.

“That’s _not_ why I’m doing this. She genuinely needs our help, Buck.” Steve argues hotly and then there’s a pause, I hear. “And anyway you’re the one that said she was gorgeous —”

“Don’t change the subject. What’re the neighbors gonna to say?”

“Since when did you care what our neighbors thought? C’mon Buck. It’s almost Christmas. She’s clearly alone. It’s cold and no one should be alone for Christmas.”

“This is beginnin’ to feel like that time you brought that kitten home.” Bucky grumbles. 

A long pause follows.

“Ok, ok,” Bucky finally relents. “She can stay with us. _If that’s what she wants_. Just for a while. Now calm down before you give yourself an asthma attack.” I hear Bucky tell Steve as I scrub off as the water grows lukewarm. I drain it and dry off, changing into the clothes Steve laid out for me. They’re definitely Bucky’s. A plain pair of trousers and a white shirt with a dark pull over sweater. The arms are too big and I push them back, pressing my fingers down my braids as I step out of the bathroom.

I pause, wincing as my bare feet hit the cool hardwood floor and flush self-consciously as both pairs of eyes fall to me. I didn’t let on that I heard their argument, figuring it was done when I wasn’t in the room for a reason.

Steve diverts his eyes after a moment, his pale cheeks flushing a bright red as Bucky stares at me, lips slightly parted, eyes visibly lowering as he takes me in.

I forgot — already — that women weren’t often see in men’s trousers and shirts in this era ( if at all ) and that seeing me in men’s clothes must be a novelty to him. Or perhaps seeing any woman in his clothes. I get the feeling that Bucky’s trying not to but can’t seem to help himself from undressing me with his eyes.

A loud clatter startles the two of us and we both jump, looking to Steve whose shoulders are haunched sheepishly by the stove.

“Sorry! Sorry.” He apologizes rapid-fire as Bucky helps him pick up the pan he dropped. “It slipped.” He defends himself and rubs the back of his neck as Bucky rolls his eyes affectionately and set it onto the stove top.

“Because I’m guessing you’re not from around here,” Bucky begins.

“— Buck!” Steve chides Bucky who rocks on back and forth on his heels once, shooting Steve an exasperated look.

“We’ve got to ration food. We can’t make you a fancy dinner but we’ve got some SPAM, eggs and some bread leftover.” It sounds like he’s giving me a choice but even as he speaks he cracks an egg on the pan and starts scooping SPAM out of a can.

“Thank you.” I tell him and move to the couch, settling down. I’m quiet for a bit as Steve flutters uselessly around Bucky who assures Steve that he’s got the cooking, squabbling quietly among themselves.

A strange wave of familiarity that feels like nostalgia that shouldn’tbe nostalgia washes over me.

“Just go sit down, Steve.” Bucky encourages his friend who sighs in defeat and trudges towards me to sit beside me on the couch. I look over at him, watching as he fidgets with his hair, swiping it across his forehead. I smile at him, assuming that pre-serum Steve doesn’t have much experience with women. I look back to Bucky and feel my lips pulling into an effortless smile as I think of a much older Bucky in a future kitchen, shirtless, cooking me breakfast. I banish the thought and my smile turns sad against my efforts and I look down at my fingers, smoothing it over the soft fabric of the sweater that’s too big on me.

“I know SPAM isn’t the greatest but Bucky’s a real good cook. You’ll be amazed what he can do with some eggs, a can of SPAM and some bread.” I realize that Steve thinks I’m disillusioned by the meal and I swallow thickly and smile at him.

My mind was busy, wondering why I felt intimidated by this version of Bucky. He was charming, still Bucky …and I hadn’t expected changing history to be easy. Maybe it was because there was pressure to re-write what was already sealed in fate. To the point where it almost made me feel manipulative. I had to be careful to avoid manipulation. I had to let things happen naturally …which meant, of course, I could never tell them I was from their future.

“I don’t want to put you out.” I tell them, my voice sounding thick and raw. I wince, as if I haven’t heard it in years. “Especially if food is rationed.”

I am hungry but I know that times are tough right now and while Steve and Bucky seem to be scraping by better than most I can tell the rations and depression the country has sunken into has taken its toll.

Steve gaps at me like a fish out of water and Bucky makes an irritated noise from the stove.

“We’re not gonna let you starve.” He says, his voice resolute and firm; no room for negotiations.

_Let it drop_ , is what it warns me. Feeling ungrateful for their kindness my throat tightens and I look down at my hands. I was going to fail this mission and …that was going to be it. It wasn’t like there was a reset button I could press again and again until I got it right.

There was only this one chance …and I was already making a huge mess of it.

When Bucky speaks again, his voice is softer. “I’m givin’ you my room. I’ll take the couch.”

“Buck I —” Steve protests but Bucky cuts him a look that, for once, silences Steve.

“I’m not negotiating with anyone over this. Steve, you need to sleep in your bed. You know you have problems sleepin’ anyway. You’d never sleep if you’re on the couch,” And then Bucky turns that steel blue gaze to me and I feel both a thrill, a rush of adrenaline so strong that my mouth turns dry and a desire to shrink in on myself takes hold of me. “and my mama didn’t raise no boar. You’re a guest here; a woman, on top of that. I’m not makin’ you sleep on the couch.” I nod mutely. It wasn’t like I planned on arguing with him.

Bucky turns back to the skillet he cooks in, his shoulders tense beneath his shirt as I draw the hem of the sweater between my thumb and my forefinger and roll the fabric around — a comfort tick I’d had ever since I was a small child.

It’s quiet then; until Bucky pulls the skillet off the stove with, “Alright, dinner’s served.” As he dishes it out onto three plates evenly that Steve must’ve set out while I was in the bath.

I join them at the small dining table. It’s not made for any more than two people comfortably and I try to make myself as small as I can. I tuck my legs beneath the chair and while Steve is short enough that his leg doesn’t touch mine, occasionally Bucky’s leg would brush against mine. I try to ignore it, but shift my feet further beneath my chair until it almost becomes painful as I pick at the eggs and SPAM.

SPAM’s disgusting and I try very hard not to make a face as I eat it. I had no choice but to get used to it. It was a staple of the 40’s, especially during the war when all the good food was rationed for the soldiers.

And …I wanted them to be able to eat well even if that meant I had to suffer. I’ve been to the memorial. I know that many of them will never see it home …and I know that Bucky will be sent over there. Eventually.

Something seizes in my chest and I swallow the lump that lodges in my throat. Steve smiles at me occasionally and I try to make my lips mirror it.

It’s a struggle.

When we finish eating I help Bucky and Steve gather up the dishes and when I offer to wash them I watch as both of their faces go red …and then I remember.

Right.

The 1940’s was a different era for people of my skin color; worse than the twentieth century, at any rate. I resist the urge to roll my eyes and I huff as they begin to bicker over who’s going to wash the dishes.

“I have an idea,” I say loudly over them, smug when they stop their squabbling. “One of us can wash, one can rinse, and one can dry.” I make a Vanna White gesture towards the sink.

I watch as Bucky fights his smile but ends up losing to it, a small laugh escaping him.

“— See,” Steve swipes his bangs out of his forehead. “That’s what I was trying to say.” Steve mumbles to Bucky who lets out a noise of incredulity and taps Steve on the arm with the back of his hand.

“No it wasn’t,” He disputes. “C’mon man.” I take the washcloth and begin to scrub at the plates as they orient themselves beside me. I take an uneven breath as discreetly as I can as Bucky takes rinsing duty, his shoulder plastered up against mine in the small space. I elbow him on accident a few times as I scrub but he doesn’t fuss or raise issue.

The three of us work quietly, handing off dishes off to one another until everything’s been cleaned. 

“Can I?” I inquire gesturing with my sudsy hands, reaching over Bucky to rinse the soap off my hands as he takes the towel Steve offers him and dries his hands off and I thank him as he hands it off to me.

It was a soft moment of domesticity and it was the first thing that didn’t feel foreign.

The weight of exhaustion settled over me then, with a full stomach,and I retreated into Bucky’s bedroom as he held the door open for me. He pauses in the threshold, hesitating, his hand on the doorknob as he studies me again; as if trying to decide if I was friend or foe.

“Steve’ll be mad if he hears me sayin’ this — ,”

I have an urge to interrupt him and tease him that he shouldn’t be saying it then, but this Bucky doesn’t know me as well as the Bucky I knew did …and vice versa, I realized.

“— but if you need anythin’ at all, doll, wake me up instead of him. He’s sickly, y’know. Needs his rest.” 

My heart melts for the man before me, his grin half sheepish and half charming.

James Barnes. Steve’s keeper.

Big husband energy.

“Thank you.” I tell him and he gives a sage nod of his head.

“Sweet dreams.”


End file.
